


The Alchemist of Woodshavyn {ON HIATUS}

by nastyK



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alchemy, Blood, Fire, High Fantasy AU, M/M, Magic, Swords, Violence, tags will be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastyK/pseuds/nastyK
Summary: Woodshavyn is a land that is home to many kinds of people, but only one alchemist that people rumor to be capable of turning anything into gold. Chased after by outlaws and the such, Jamison the alchemist finds protection in a dangerous mercenary.





	1. The Land of Woodshavyn

**Author's Note:**

> Keiggy tries to write a little fantasy story and accidentally puts too much effort into it! Hope you enjoy!

Pronounced Woods-hay-veen.

Woodshavyn is an island. It consists of flat lands, rivers, lakes and forests and a mountainous center. A number of towns litter the land save for the two biggest settlements, the City of Woodshavyn and the elvish kingdom of Da'learth. Though small, Woodshavyn has a diverse population. Humans and elves are the most common species encountered, but giants and woodland creatures both docile and dangerous make their home in this island as well.

Woodshavyn is a property of a much larger kingdom in a continent west of it, save for Da'learth, which belongs to the elves settled north of that kingdom.


	2. The Devil's Apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The town of Paendley used to be a very quiet place.

Peace and quiet is what onced defined the little town of Paendley. Nothing ever happened and the townsfolk liked it that way. It wasn’t until a foreigner by the name of Jamison moved in some years back that things began to take a different turn. Jamison was an alchemist and aspiring mage, loud and obnoxious and a menace to the town’s sleepy reputation. He was loathed by most, though it barely seemed to bother him at first.

The townsfolk would often gossip and spread rumors about their resident black sheep. He could transmute anything into gold, they’d say; he lost his arm to his own mad experiments, some would whisper. He steals from the graves, he’s experimented on people, he’s killed, he’s done this and that. There was some truth to the rumors, but for the most part they were wrong.

But it was hard to know what was true and what wasn’t, for Jamison liked to keep his work to himself. His secrecy lead people to believe he was hiding something of value, but he always insisted he wasn’t; it was hard to believe him with his shrill voice and theatrical behavior. All in all, he wasn’t liked, and threats and insults came easy to the people of Paendley.

 

“Piss off, then,” retorted a slightly bothered Jamison to the merchant who refused to sell him goods. He walked away, stomping with annoyance until he got distracted by his own thoughts and stopped being upset in general. He had noticed that people had become more hostile lately, but he told himself time and time again that it was nothing to worry about. To every passerby he’d cheerfully shout “G’day!”; they would tell him off or ignore him completely. _They’re busy_ , he thought to himself.

 

He made his way home to his little cottage by the edge of town and, upon entering, locked the door and set up a rusty old bear trap by the door. He did this to keep out bandits and outlaws. Rumors of Paendley’s alchemist spread far and wide and many a criminal had an interest in what he could provide--another reason why the people despised Jamison, he brought crime into the city. Gold is what the outlaws would usually go after, though Jamison’s gold wasn’t authentic, for it was impossible to transmute things to gold. He created fool’s gold; a metal just as shimmering and radiant but worthless in reality. Not many could tell the difference, though. Not that it mattered much; he didn’t transmute his fake gold often anyway.

 

Jamison stretched his arms and yawned, taking a look around his little home. Small as it was, it had enough room to be stuffed entirely with books and papers, as well as counless shelves: there were bottles filled to the brim with chemicals and components with which Jamison concocted his experiments. Jars of rarities and ingredients lined the dusty shelves, all labeled with his shaky handwriting. His work bench had stacks of notes and papers and stained retorts, beakers and a mortar and pestle. His house was messy, smelly and dirty, but it was home.

Jamison sat down and almost immediately began to work. He spent hours upon hours lost in his studies, creating and experimenting until he passed out, slobbering over the piece of paper he was taking notes on. Nighttime fell as he snored on his desk.

Then he was jerked awake by the smell of smoke. He immediately panicked, but realized he wasn’t working on anything flammable (Not that he didn’t have anything flammable in his house.) He calmed down, but soon realized the smell was too strong, too close, too—

_Knock knock knock!_

The loud banging against his door made him flinch. Jamison quickly rubbed the spit off his face into his shirt and hurried towards the door. He deactivated the bear trap he’d placed in front of the entrance and proceeded to turn the knob to his door. When he opened it, his heart sank to the floor. There stood half the town with pitchforks and torches, looking at him like he’d done something wrong. He swallowed hard and put on a nervous smile. “A-ah,” he began, “Can I help y—”

The man in front of him didn’t let him finish as he sucker punched Jamison in the face. Caught unaware, Jamison fell to the ground and suddenly there were people surrounding him, kicking and hitting him with the butts of their pitchforks; some even ripped his clothes. He saw men entering his house, ripping his papers and dropping his shelves. “No,” he screamed between beatings, “Stop!”

He was picked up by the strongest men in town by each limb, and no matter how hard he thrashed and squirmed he could not free himself. He hyperventilated and yelled as he was dragged from his home—his house that was being broken into and destroyed and looted. He looked back at the mess they’d made of it and held back tears; the pain in his body, his exhaustion, was almost impossible to bear. He yelled until he ran out of breath; he went limp in his captors’ arms, the sound of the mob yelling obscenities at him becoming a blur to his ears.

He was carried to the town square, where a stake was waiting for him. Upon seeing it, all ready with hay and flammable materials, he panicked once again. He wiggled and screamed nonsense and kicked. The screaming mob held him up, tying him to the stake. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t hear anything, nothing made sense and oh gods, he was going to die.

“...And for far too long we have put up with this devil’s apprentice, for too long he has brought naught but bandits and curses! Tonight, we end his evil rule over our peaceful lives! Tonight, he burns!” The town’s priest preached and held up his torch to the people.

“Aye!” screamed the mob. Jamison had no idea what to do; he begged for help, screamed for forgiveness, asked what  he’d done wrong. He weeped when a torch was brought to the bottom of the stake, starting a slow fire that would soon engulf him completely.

Then came a sound. Distant, low and steady, like a beating drum. Not many seemed to notice until it got closer, closer, closer, the beating drum turned to stomping. The harshest breathing scraped against rusty old metal and echoed into the mob, making them turn their heads towards the source. Silence fell over them as they witnessed with horror a mountainous man with a massive claymore in hand. His black, light armor contrasted the rusted brown of his terrifying iron hog’s mask. The mob backed away with every step he took, save for the town’s priest, who held his position in front of the stake. Jamison glanced at the giant but continued his whimpering and frantic staring at the fire that grew slowly.

“Priest Randolf,” the giant said, his voice low and booming through the metal of his mask. The priest swallowed. “Your time has come.”

Without a second thought, he lifted his claymore and swinged it. The priest had no time to run as it slashed him from shoulder to hip in a smooth, vertical swing. The mob screamed and ran away as blood and guts splattered on the floor as the two-part limp body of the priest fell to the ground. The giant ignored everyone, and instead took to the corpse and searched it for gold and goods. He pocketed the few coins he’d found and got back up.

“Oi! Oi, you, Pigface!”

The giant turned to Jamison, who was panicking and lifting his legs to escape the fire, thrashing and wiggling. The giant stared, but did not respond. “Yeah, you! Y’mind helpin’ me out, eh? Get me out of here!”

“...I have no time to waste on you,” the giant turned back to the corpse, kicked it and started to make his way. Jamison whined loudly and screamed.

“No, no no no no, please! Please, help me! Wait, wait, you like gold! You like gold, yeah?! I’ll give you gold, I have all the gold you could imagine, mate! I’ll-Fuck! I’ll give it to ya, just… help! Help me!” The giant turned back to him, staring. “W-well?!” Jamison yelled. The giant didn’t move. He just stared and Jamison was losing his mind as the flames licked the skin of his legs. “ _HELP!_ ”

The giant quickly stepped forward, swinging his claymore against the wooden stake. The cut took a few swings, but soon the stake was sliced and it fell to the ground with a thud. Jamison whined when his side hit the ground. He tried his hardest to free his hand on his own, but failed. The flame still spread to the stake on the floor. The giant then stepped in front of Jamison and freed his hands from it.

Jamison breathed hard, savoring his freedom as he palmed his chest and legs. He got up and faced the giant. “Gold,” demanded the giant. Jamison coughed and nodded.

“Y-yeh, yeah sure, f-follow me…”

Jamison walked back to his house, not sparing a single glance to the giant steadily pacing behind him. Truth be told, he wanted to see the mess that remained of his house before anything else. They couldn’t have ruined it much, could they?

He took a deep breath upon stepping inside. The papers that hung on his walls were ripped off, his ingredients, his books, all shattered and torn to pieces on his floor. His desk was empty, as everything was swept off into the floor. Jamison exhaled and balled his fist, taking slow steps inside his now destroyed house. He lifted up one of the bookshelves that had been down on the floor and put it back in place; then he touched the floorboards until he found one that was loose. He lifted it up and pulled out a rattling sack and presented it to the giant. The giant sheathed his claymore, took the bag in his massive hand and opened it with the other. He closed it and hung it from his belt. He turned around to leave until Jamison interrupted him, “Hey wait. Wait, I can’t stay here. I’m…”

The giant growled and turned to face him.

“You’re a mercenary, ain’t ya? I’ve got more coin, if you, ah… If you were to protect me, I could give you more gold!”

“...I’m not cheap.”

“That I can tell, my friend. Listen, I just need someone who’ll watch my back while I, uh, find some place else to live. But trust me, I can offer you a lot…”

“How much?”

“All of it! All the gold you can imagine! You’ll be richer than the richest man in all of Woodshavyn!” Jamison’s enthusiasm made him look mad; he cackled unwillingly and the giant did not believe him. The giant approached him, and wrapped his hand around Jamison’s neck and lifted him up. Jamison gagged and nearly screamed while holding onto the giant’s arm.

“I don’t play games,” warned the giant, his voice grating against the metal of his mask.

“N-not pl-playin’ with ya!” Jamison spluttered, trying to reach for his pocket with his one hand. “I’ll, I’ll show you!”  The giant let go of him, dropping him on the ground unceremoniously. Jamison heaved and coughed, but managed to catch his breath. He put his hand in his pocket and fished out what looked like a pebble. He showed it to the giant, then shut his hand. Seconds later, he opened it, and to the giant’s surprise, there was a gold nugget in the pebble’s place. The giant stared in awe (or what Jamison assumed to be awe) and grabbed the nugget delicately. “Like that, huh? I can make more, lots more...”

The giant let out a low rumble. “How?”

“Science! ...And a bit of magic. But anyway, whaddaya say? Mind if I hire you for some time?”

“...Three nights. Unless you can make more of these.”

“Three nights is good! I’ll let ya know if I need you any longer n’ that.” Jamison beamed up, smiling like a lunatic. He grabbed his tattered old knapsack and searched his home for anything that hadn’t been completely destroyed or stolen. With a few ingredients, scrolls and stale food, he turned back to his new bodyguard and told him to follow him. They abandoned Paendley that night and headed southwest.

**Author's Note:**

> Like Roadrat? Join the (18+) discord server! >> https://discord.gg/PCFGjGP <<


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